


Half-Birthday

by Ladycat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dark, Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Ownership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think," Snape murmurs, low enough that even Hermione next to him can't hear, "that it's time we brought a play thing into our games.  Look at the way Draco's looking at us."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancetomato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancetomato/gifts).



Snape's sneer was a work of art. A perfected masterpiece that lesser artists could never hope to match, the standard for which all great works would later be judged by.

Harry stared at it with grumpy dismay. A sneer shouldn't get him _hot_.

"Harry, stop squirming," Hermione says from the corner of her mouth. She's gotten very good at moving just the edges of her lips, a skill only Snape can really match and oh, bugger, that is not what he needs to be thinking about right now. Really not at all.

From the front of the room, Snape stabs a poisonous glance their way but says nothing. Everyone is disconcerted by the, right down to Draco who casts a malicious-free look back towards Harry. Now is usually the time when Snape sweeps through to find _something_ wrong with Harry's potion, insult him until Harry gets so furious he wrecks something or stomps out of the room.

It's the daily entertainment.

Except Snape is hovering like a giant, glowering bat over Lavender's shoulder and Harry is neither furious nor stomping nor breaking something.

He's _hard_ , is what he is, and trying desperately to will it away.

"Harry!"

"'M fine," he hisses back.

"Look, if you have to, um." Hermione turns a dull, ugly shade of red and glances towards the back corner of the lab, where the toiler resides. "You know it'll be worse if you, um, hold it."

No, Harry doesn't know that, he thinks, staring at her oddly. She flushes even more redly and ducks her head to stare at her bubbling cauldron. Harry wants to ask her just what _that_ is supposed to mean, but Snape is suddenly there, hovering over them until Harry can catch the faintly spicy scent that's normally hidden underneath the reek of the potion's room, and asking anybody anything is completely out of the question. All Harry can do is sit there, paralyzed with his cock throbbing and his mouth dry, because Snape is _right there_ , so close, and so adult, leaning over him with that perfect, perfect sneer pulling at perfect, pink lips...

"I think," Snape murmurs, low enough that even Hermione next to him can't hear, "that it's time we brought a play thing into our games. Look at the way Draco's looking at us."

Harry looks and can feel himself going white. Draco looks like Draco: sullen, and angry, with a white, pointy face that is so full of envy and want and frustrated heat that it looks almost like constipation.

Harry's seen this expression a lot.

"Nng," he says, articulate as always.

Snape doesn't chuckle, but his eyes crinkle even as his mouth sneers more fiercely. Harry spends the rest of the class staying rigidly still, getting absolutely nothing done -- Hermione assumes it's terror and quietly does his work for him -- until finally, finally Snape dismisses class.

"Not you, Potter. You stay."

Harry swallows back a whimper.

He still doesn't know what's happening. It's been months, now, and he's certain that Snape still hates him, that _he_ still hates Snape! But too many Occlumency lessons left him panting and groaning on his knees before Snape, and finally the two of them had just snapped. Harry can remember the blunt, heavy feel of a cock down his throat, Snape murmuring that this would make it better, like chocolate after Dementors, take it, stay down there where you belong...

No clue, really. Harry is no idea.

But he likes it.

Finally, Snape locks the door and turns back to Harry, still vibrating with his urgency to stay still, and Draco who is smirking as he leans against the desk. _He_ thinks he's there to witness some sort of detention while he's praised and petted, as usual.

Harry's palms itch. He wants to pet Draco, too. Along the neck, over naked shoulders while that pale white body shivers in the cold dungeon air, bent over and -- 

"Harry has done very excellently these past few weeks," Snape says. Draco rounds on him, mouth wide open, so shocked he can't even squeak: not what he was expecting to hear, obviously. Snape ignores that, sidling up to Harry so he can brush his palm between Harry's legs, looking down at him -- sneering, always sneering -- fondly. "Oh, he has. He's become quite good at occulmency. Even his potions are improving under my... expert tutelage."

Draco's eyes are grey as slate, bugging out as he watches Snape push back Harry's robe and spell open the jeans below. "Professor -- what -- "

"You've been petitioning me to provide extra-circular services," and Snape should sell his voice to the sex-numbers Harry vaguely remembers from the muggle world, because he could come right then. If Snape says it's okay... "You believe it will afford you protection and I can, of course, do that. If it's known that you're my pet, the Dark Lord will not try to make you into his own."

Harry's too lost from the sensation of Snape's fingers delicately tracing over his cock to really understand what's being said. He does see Draco go so pale he looks bloodless, like a ghost, swaying lightly as he contemplates something terrifying.

Harry basically ignores him, though. He already knows what terror is, and he's no room for it when Snape is driving him mad with wanting, flicking a nail over the head of his cock. "Sna - " he breathes. "Snnnn."

"Sh, Harry. Draco, are you listening? Good. I want you to go kneel down where you are. Yes, just like that. Good. Are you certain you want to do this?" Snape sounds coldly clinical, dismissive, but Harry can hear the worry in his voice. It makes him want to push free, back to where his mind doesn't float and twist so merrily, but Snape is petting him, settling him, and it's so hard to do anything but sit there and be played with and trust Snape.

He _does_ trust Snape, now. Really.

Harry makes a rasping noise when Draco settles onto his knees, big eyes locked on Snape. Harry thinks that's proper, too, but then his mind goes utterly blank because Snape is telling him to, "Get up, and go lean on the desk behind Draco," and Harry is a fifteen year old boy. He is _thinking things._

Snape laughs as Harry fumbles into position. Walking is a challenge, but Draco -- Draco helps, surprisingly. He keeps his eyes on the floor but he steadies Harry when he misses the desk the first time, tugging his denims down so his arse is exposed -- oh, that is nice, Harry thinks with a soft moan -- making sure his palms are steady before he looks up and.

And licks his lips.

"I want to," he says in a tiny voice. "I. I do."

"Of course you do," Snape sneers. "You've wanted to since you first met him on the train and didn't know what it was you were feeling. You Malfoys are always the same. Your father just hides it better."

Harry has no idea what's going on, and he clings to his trust of Snape because if this is a trap, a trick, something to make him --

But Snape comes up behind him, warm hands soothing and familiar as they slide over his stomach to cup him there, steadying him. "Breathe, Harry. We aren't threatening you, just having a conversation no Gryffyndor could ever understand."

Harry shivers, because oh, the _disdain_ there...

"Have you done this before?"

Almost, Harry says of _course_ we've done this before, what are you talking about? But for all Snape is touching Harry, he's looking at Draco, who flushes. The pink looks very fetching. "A few times."

"And the rest?"

"Th-that too."

"Good. I'll want to try you out, of course, but more importantly, Harry is a young, growing boy and he'll need his outlets. Now, then. Harry," he says, a little loudly to reclaim Harry's attention. "Do you remember the spells I taught you?"

Yes, Harry does. He mutters the words, not quite loud enough for a whisper, and feels his body go slick and lax, his cock throbbing with anticipation. It's a little awkward, standing like this over Draco, and Harry should probably be ashamed since it's clear what he and Snape are about to do.

But he doesn't feel shame. He feels _hot_ , eager and seconds from begging for it.

Oddly, Draco looks the same way.

"Good." Snape squeezes Harry's abs, then lets his hands slide south, lifting Harry's cock -- Harry whines -- and aims it towards parted pink lips. "Now, then, Draco. Here's your first audition. Don't let him come until I do."

Harry gaps, finally understanding what's going on -- but as a hot, eager mouth slides over him, Snape's thick, familiar cock is sliding _inside_ of him, and the overload of sensation drives him wild. He's sweating already, pricks of heat that cool his sides while Spike takes him at his normal, steady pace, fucking him until Harry feels like he'll explode from it, blow off just like a volcano that doesn't know it is one, and --

And if he does, Draco will be there to moan and swallow it.

Eyes suddenly clear, Harry looks down. Draco is clearly good at this, licking tongues of fire up Harry's length and sucking on the tip with an expression that can only be called _blissful_. "You -- you said a pet?" Harry asks, jerking between thrusts. Each one is making his dick push deeper into Draco's mouth, too, which Draco doesn't seem to object to.

"Yours, of course. I'll have him too, but he'll primarily be yours and _if_ ," nice, hard thrust, "you can prove you have discretion, you'll be allowed to take him whenever you like."

Harry groans and starts meeting Snape's thrusts, buttocks shaking as his muscles flex, and if that drives his cock even harder into Draco's mouth, well, Draco just looks _more_ blissful. "He's mine?"

Snape is sucking on the mark that's permanently on Harry's shoulder, lately, the one everyone else thinks means a girlfriend and makes Cho and, bizarrely, Ginny look sad. He bites there, sometimes, and when Harry's forehead hurts, his shoulder throbs in comforting relief.

Tentative fingers run around the base of Harry's cock, tightening inexorably. Draco flushes under the look Harry gives him and pulls off enough to say, "Didn't want you to come first," then hurries back to suck apologies along the vein.

"That's good," Harry says, the words coming with like Snape's, with that silken threat underneath and Draco shivers, his own cock very obvious in the front of his robes. "Can -- Snape, can he be naked?"

"I think that's appropriate. Draco, strip."

And off comes Draco's robes, the boy as whitely pale as Harry had guessed. He goes back to his kneeling position without a word, sucking sloppy and sweet as Snape fucks Harry harder, the two of them moaning and biting off curse words because it feels so _good_ , what Snape does, and now he's got a mouth hot on his cock and it's _his_ , Harry's, when Harry's never really had _anything_ and the moment Snape comes with a guttural, choking moan, Draco surges forward so all of Harry's cock is in his _throat_ , and he swallows, or tightens or something and Harry is coming so hard he sees stars flying all around him, the only light in darkness.

Snape conjures soft cushions, tugging Harry down against him so they can breathe and laze the way they always do afer a fuck. It's one of Harry's favorite things.

"Did you like your half-birthday gift?"

Is that what this was? Harry smiles, because he cannot sneer, and leans back so his head is tucked under Snape's chin. Snape gives off heat like a fire, arms comfortable around him. "Mm. He's lovely, thank you."

Snape kisses his temple, then turns that perfect, perfect sneer on Draco. "Pleasure yourself. Let Harry see what kind of gift I've given him."

Draco turns a dull red, but he kneels on the hard stone floor and spreads his legs, tugging on his equally dull red cock. He's trying not to be loud, swallowing the moans that says he's enjoying this a _lot_ , and Harry cannot sneer, but he can mock. "Don't be quiet, Draco. I want to hear you enjoying your performance."

So Draco moans, a low, aching sound that travels up Harry's cock and pulls on himself even harder.

"A very good present," Harry judges, and when Draco comes, he strokes his fine, white hair like like a dog's. "Can I fuck him, too?"

"Later, Harry. Later."


End file.
